


Quicksand - Still Water Sidestories

by stereonightss



Series: Still Water [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Interlude, Lost Boys, M/M, Oral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17666411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereonightss/pseuds/stereonightss
Summary: where Malik and Bakura do after the chapter in Still Water where they smoke hookah with Kaiba and Yugi.





	Quicksand - Still Water Sidestories

The air cut past his ankles, ice-hard and biting as they sped down the side streets toward the highway. Malik took the turns quick and sharp and Ryou buried his face into the side of Malik’s neck so he didn’t have to watch as they leaned perilous through the turns, flecks of sand and rocks kicking up at them like birdshot. Malik rocketed them between cars, weaving with a carelessness that left Ryou breathless and needy.

When they pulled onto the beltway and Malik hit the turbo and Ryou bit his lip hard enough to draw blood he saw in a flash his own fingers dyed carmine red and tasted the metal bite memory of blood on gold, a remnant from his other self’s tenure. Oh, the secondary thrill he felt through the veil as his own hand possessed pulled the life out through the eye, it was nothing like this reckless wanting, this edge-skating hush he could feel to the depth of him now that the depth of him was finally empty. It was into this empty space that Malik poured all his private suffering, his humor and his grandiose ideas, his longing, his quirks of language and of dress, into Ryou he poured his quiet, casual intimacy and Ryou sucked it up thirsty like endless desert sand.

His hands around Malik’s waist were numb from holding, wind-blown and white at the knuckles. They made the beltway loop twice, just to watch the lights of Domino wink out by turns, just to wait for the night to fall heavy. By the time they pulled off onto an exit to the suburbs, Ryou was trembling cold, sucked by the vacuum of anticipation.

Malik rode them easy to an overlook in a quiet part of the nearest town, some place he used as a meeting point years before when he’d ridden Domino alone and scheming. Private, secluded, high enough that they could see the whole city in the distance, looking for all its twinkling lights and silhouettes like a heap of costume jewelry.

Malik cut the engine as Ryou swung off the saddle, legs shaky. Malik reached to steady him by one slim arm.

“It’s like that when you’re not used to it.”

“I’m all right.”

They stood against the guard rail and looked down into the valley of the costume jewelry city and out over the port beyond. The rail was cold on Ryou’s thighs, but Malik’s arm was warm and Malik’s eyes were warm and Malik’s hands on his neck were warm but Malik’s tongue was cool and sweet and his lips were chapped and the fractional stubble on his cheek burned Ryou’s face where it rubbed but he wanted the burning, wanted the scrape of nails in the small of his back with his shirt hiked up and the hot press of Malik’s exposed midriff against his own as they bruised their hips against the guardrail and each other, wind whipping their hair together in gold-white tangles.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Malik whispered into his neck, hands running up his stomach and over the five raised little scars to swipe light over his nipples, already hard against the cold. He bit down hard on the line that curved from Malik’s ear to his shoulder, ravenous for the salt taste of skin as they bucked against each other frantic, straining, struck hard by the siphoning minutes and clinging to each other as though the press of hands could stop the sand-slip of time away from this moment, this heat and this feeling and the smell of sweat and coconut and incense in Malik’s hair, the flash of his violet eyes dark and wide in the night and the slip of his tongue over Ryou’s jaw and the rough rub of hair against Ryou’s knuckles as he hooked his fingers down into the waist of Malik’s low low low rise jeans.

Ryou bent with a knee to the damp gravel and his mouth on Malik’s stomach and his fingers on the button and the fly and Malik hissing hands in Ryou’s coarse white hair arched his hips off the guard rail so Ryou could take him out and Ryou gazed up at him with a gleam in his eye so sharp that Malik gasped, because it was those eyes and it’s that gleam and the mean little flash of teeth in a very very naughty hungry smile smacked hard of the Bakura long gone now. No—but it was Ryou’s eyes and Ryou’s mouth on him now and Ryou’s hands slid up the backs of his thighs to press him deep down that slim, moaning throat, swallowing him even as choked tears spilled out the corners of his eyes and down his flushed cheeks, the sheen of the tear tracks catching the moonlight.

Malik poured himself into the prayerful press of Ryou’s open mouth, and Ryou with dark secretive eyes too knowing like an animal’s eyes that read through all human guile from a great distance, Ryou with a killer’s slim white hands like his own killing hands bleached, Ryou with the cavernous need like his own for touch, for redemption, for safety, Ryou with the scars that ringed his heart sucked it up thirsty like endless desert sand.


End file.
